


A Beautiful Lie

by Lisapahud



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisapahud/pseuds/Lisapahud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he's freed at the barricade, Javert tells the truth when his lieutenant ask him how he got away. It changes everything but the end is still the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Lie

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in answer to a prompt - or at least an idea - that I've seen somewhere. However, I don't remember where and it doesn't fit exactly. I've put the prompt at the end of the story, since I don't want to give everything away.
> 
> The characters and settings are not mine. They belong to their creator. I own nothing.
> 
> 25.06.15 - I had made a mistake in the title. I've now corrected it but I hope the story is not showing twice because it's the first time I've had to correct something like that on this site. My apologies if it does

** A Beautiful Lie **

When Javert stumbled into the stationhouse, he was exhausted, having been up all night long even if he was tied down and couldn’t lift a finger, and bewildered, not understanding how Valjean, the man who should have rejoiced at the situation he had been him in had decided to not only save him, but also give him his address when he knew that the only thing Javert would do with the information was to arrest him as soon as possible.

“Inspector?” one of his lieutenant, Dupuis, asked him, surprised to see him there and worried about his physical state.

Javert looked at the young man and saw the concern in his eyes. Thinking about how his night had gone so far, he knew he must have looked a sight. In civilian clothes, dirty as hell, with probable ligature marks visible at least around his neck as his shirt thankfully managed to hide the ones around his wrists.

Him who had always prided himself to be perfectly put together no matter the circumstances; it must be a shock for Dupuis to see him like this. He hoped the young man – and God, he was young, so young Javert could only be thankful he had been chosen to stay behind and monitor the stationhouse during the riots, as someone had to do the job – would still maintain his image of him as a respected policeman.

“What happened to you?”

Normally, Dupuis would never have dared to question Javert like this as the man was not only his superior but not one to explain himself to others. However, the seriousness of the situation had completely destroyed his brain-to-mouth filter and the words were out before he could swallow them back.

“I was taken prisoner by the insurgent at the barricade I was sent to infiltrate,” he explained briefly. “One of them recognized me.”

His mind went back to Gavroche, the _gamin_ he had seen a few times in the streets, always running around making mischief, no parents in sight. He hadn’t realized the child would be at the barricade. How could these schoolboys let him stay with them? Didn’t they know they would all be dead by morning, the little one included?

“How did you manage to escape? Shouldn’t they have killed you? I mean…,” Dupuis tried to amend his sentence but Javert waved him off.

“They intended to, but I was rescued by the person they chose for the job,” Javert explained and Dupuis frowned.

“One of the insurgents let you go?”

Javert couldn’t really blame Dupuis for his surprise. It did sound ridiculous. Of course, the truth was even more farfetched than that, so he couldn’t really judge.

“No, it was not an insurgent. Or at least, I do not think he was. It is not his style. There was a convict, there. One who has broken his parole. Jean Valjean. He pretended to take me away to kill but instead cut my bonds and let me go instead.”

“A convict on the run, Sir?”

Javert nodded.

“Yes, and I now have his address. If he manages to survive the night, I will finally be able to bring him to justice. I need you to go to the archives and look for his file. It should be in here as I did ask for it quite some time ago. It has been a long time since I’ve seen Valjean but now I certainly intend to finish the job. Bring me the file in my office.”

Dupuis nodded his understanding and scampered away, intending to obey his order. Javert went straight to his office, lighting the candle on his desk, already anticipating the resolution of the case that had stayed with him for nearly twenty years now.

It was only about fifteen minutes later when Dupuis came back, a file in hand, one labeled ‘Jean Valjean, 24601 – 9430’. Javert had been redacting a letter and did not immediately look up, expecting Dupuis to simply depose the file and get out. However, when it didn’t happen that way, he looked up and saw Dupuis hesitating, looking as if he wanted to ask him something.

Normally, Javert didn’t like answering questions from his subordinates. He needed them to learn how to do their job without him holding their hands. However, Dupuis had proven to be a very promising policeman up to now and he supposed he could make an exception just this once.

“Yes, Dupuis, what is it?” he asked impatiently, motioning for the young man to give his the file while he searched for his words.

Wordlessly Dupuis did so before seeming to find his courage.

“I don’t understand. You say that Valjean freed you at the barricade but.... He’s dead.”

“Yes, yes,” Javert said, exasperated by the mistake they had made when they had believed Valjean’s little act of disappearance and had never wanted to correct the case file, even as Javert continued to investigate. “I know what the file says. He’s alive, though, I tell you and here, in Paris.”

“But…”

“It’s not that difficult for a man as cunning as Valjean to fake his own death,” he continued, wanting to drive his point home and make Dupuis understand the reality of the situation.

“But, Sir, the file says you were the one to identify the body.”

That stopped Javert short. He just couldn’t process that sentence. That was absolutely ridiculous. He couldn’t have identified the body. They had never found any body to be identified. There must have been a mistake somewhere, a mistake he hadn’t realized the last time he had looked through the file. Or maybe Dupuis had misread it.

“This is ridiculous,” he said out loud and opened the file, looking for the information and finding exactly what his lieutenant had said.

It was written, clear as day, that Inspecteur Javert, of the police of Montreuil-sur-Mer, had identified the body of the prisoner Jean Valjean who had drowned as he had saved a man from a similar fate in the port of Toulon.

“I….,” he began, frowning, then looked up and sharply addressed Dupuis. “Get out.”

He needed to be alone and his tone, leaving no place for an answer or a discussion, was more than enough for the young policeman to exit the office in a hurry, closing the door behind him and leaving Javert on his own.

The Inspector let out a shuddering breath as he tried to regain his bearing before looking back down at the file, hoping to find a completely different text. Nothing had changed, however, and a niggling feeling was beginning to enter the back of his mind, one he tried not to listen to, his heartbeat seeming to quicken, as if to warn him of an imminent danger. He felt lightheaded.

“Maybe it is time for you to remember, Inspecteur,” a voice said and he startled, as he had thought himself alone.

He looked up to see none other than Jean Valjean, sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk, usually used by those who came to talk to him. But that was impossible. Valjean couldn’t be there. He would have had to come through the main entrance of the station and Dupuis would have certainly caught him first. Besides, he hadn’t heard the door open.

“Valjean! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, relegating his questions to the back of his mind for the moment and concentrating on the fact that his convict was here, in police custody so to speak. “Were you that eager for me to arrest you that you couldn’t wait for me to come and get you?!”

Valjean only smiled sadly, oh so sadly, at him.

“You have always known you could never arrest me,” he said and it made no sense, no sense at all.

“I have you within my grip, if you think your little act can save you now, you’re wrong. You’re not leaving this station until they come and get you to bring you back to the galley.”

Javert watched as Valjean didn’t protest, didn’t try to plead for his freedom, but only closed his eyes, not in resignation but in what seemed to be a devastating sadness, not for his own life that was about to end, but directed towards his jailer.

“You have to remember Javert. It has to end now,” he insisted, sounding so sure of himself, so commanding that Javert faltered.

What did Valjean want to him to remember? He seemed to be indicating the file but the file only described his death and how Javert had done the identification, proving that he was dead. So that couldn’t be it because he couldn’t be both dead and in front of him.

“Remember Toulon. Remember the ship and the sea, the man about to drown,” Valjean continued and flashes began to run through Javert’s mind.

He remembered how Valjean had gone to a guard, asking for permission to cut his chain to try and save the seaman. How he had been given that permission and had so easily broken his bond with a hammer, how he had so heroically rescued the man before falling himself in the sea. How no one had ever seen him again… except for Javert.

“I remember,” he said harshly. “I remember how you faked your own death to escape justice.”

Valjean shook his head.

“Remember how the director of the prison called you several days later to tell you a body had been found. Remember how you went to see for yourself.”

He… he did remember that, Javert realized as memories he had long forgotten began playing in his mind. The letter he had received from Toulon telling him they had found a body washed up not too far from the harbor where Valjean had fallen. He had gone to see for himself, of course. He had seen the body.

His heart quickened and his breathing became shallow. No, it was not possible. He had seen Valjean on and off since then. He had seen him with the child, Cosette, in the streets of Paris. He had seen him at the barricade. He was seeing him now.

“A bad man would never have given his life to save a perfect stranger,” Valjean continued, not caring about the almost panic-attack that seemed to grip Javert and he simply wanted to scream for him to stop talking right now but the words didn’t want to come out. “It was simply impossible. But you couldn’t have condemned a good man to a lifetime in Toulon. You needed for it to be a ploy. You needed another chance to rewrite the story, so that your view of the world would be safe.”

No, no, no…. Javert couldn’t stand it anymore. He flung the file in direction of Valjean, not wanting to see the words taunting him anymore and the folder hit the door, sending papers everywhere. The noise was enough for Dupuis to brave his apprehension and look into the office again.

“Inspector? Is everything alright?” he asked as he saw the untidy state of the office.

Javert looked up at the lieutenant, wanting to see his reaction to Valjean’s presence, wanting to tell him there he was, the supposedly dead convict, but Dupuis kept his eyes fixed on him as if he was the only person in the office and, looking at Valjean, he saw him shook his head.

“Do you understand now?”

Still no reaction from Dupuis, except the worry that seemed to be creasing his brow more and more and Javert forced himself to answer.

“Everything is alright, Dupuis. Go back to your post.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

Once the door closed again, Javert closed his eyes and forced himself to go back eight years ago, back when he had looked at the body they had found and there was no mistake possible. It was Jean Valjean. He took a trembling breath as reality seemed to crash into him.

“You wanted to rewrite the story, but in the end, you’re too honest to be willing to live a lie and your mind chose to make me both a convict and a good man. You couldn’t let yourself avoid the duality. The story was always going to end the same way. Tell me Inspector, would you have let me go this time around?”

Javert looked up at Valjean and for a second he forgot the man in front of him wasn’t real, that he was simply a creation of his own mind. But then Valjean vanished with a last smile and Javert was left on his own, in a daze, knowing the world he had known was a complete lie.

And there was only one way to end the story. Would he have let Valjean go in the end, him who had never doubted until minutes ago? Yes, he thought to himself. Yes, he would have and he still could.

He got up, put on his coat and his hat, blew out the candle and exited the office, closing conscientiously the door behind him, answered mechanically Dupuis’ goodbye and left the stationhouse. The Pont-au-Change was waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was for a fusion between Les Misérables and A Beautiful Mind, where Valjean was a creation of Javert's mind. Since I couldn't see how the events in Montreuil-sur-Mer could have happened without Valjean actually existing, I tweaked the prompt a little bit and actually killed him during his rescue of the seaman.


End file.
